


fuck your norms

by myu_gao



Category: MewGulf - Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Gulf, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Top!Mew, at least for now, mew takes no shit n i love him for it, omega!gulf, omega!mew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myu_gao/pseuds/myu_gao
Summary: Mew and Gulf are unusual omegas trying to survive in a dumb world.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 63
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- i am against the alpha agenda  
> \- stop arguing about who's the alpha, just let them be omegas  
> \- #omegasupremacy thx  
> \- find me on twit n debate me on this if you dare

Mew has always been outstanding in the best and worst of ways, and he's always been proud of it. He'd been the top of his class from high school all the way to university, and had maintained a stellar social and extracurricular record despite all that. He'd gotten into the top university in the country through his own merits, and he'd kept a perfect 4.00 his entire time there. He plays basketball with an ease most alphas could only dream of, and he takes to drumming like he takes to everything else in his life - perfect, like a fish to water. Oh, and last but not least, he's the only omega male ever to be born into the Jongcheveevat bloodline. 

Mew's parents hadn't been disappointed, just very, very surprised. His mother had put her hand over his and softly assured him that no matter what, he was still her son. Nong Jom, having presented earlier with the rest of the girls, mused that it was nicer to have another omega in the family. His father had given a tight nod and slipped back into his office. That's a reaction Mew will accept.

His extended family, however, is a very different matter.

They refuse to believe it at first, that their eldest grandchild-slash-nephew should have turned out the so-called opposite of the strong alpha he was supposed to be.

So as much as he loves his family, Mew has gotten used to slipping in and out of the house when he so much as hears the soft clunk of a relative's footsteps on his door.

It's the reason he's slipping his feet into his Balenciagas whilst simultaneously stuffing himself into his favourite pastel blue hoodie, his phone jostling in his pocket and Chopper yapping urgently at his heels.

"Shh, Chopper!" He hisses, picking up the pup and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead, "Can't let them know I'm here." From his room on the second floor Mew had seen his second aunt's car turning into the driveway, and he wasn't going to even try to sit there while she levelled disappointed stares over tea.

Mew's stepping on the backs of his shoes and he knows he's going to hear no end of it from Mild later. _By Buddha, the timing of this woman._ He runs a hand through his mussed-up hair, typing rapidly into the group chat with the other.

**Mew**

Khun Nok's

Now

Be there or be square

**Mild**

NOOOOOOO

i'm doing homeworkkkkkk

**Mew**

Do it later

Mew chucks his phone into the passenger seat and heaves a huge sigh, resting his head against the steering wheel of his Mazda. Checks the glove compartment for his pills - he's running low, he'll have to pick some more up later, when he's done being annoyed at the world.

_Damn omega hormones._

When Mew reverses out of the driveway, he makes sure to let the wheels screech loudly against the pavement. _How you like that, huh?_

* * *

Mew is, predictably, the first to arrive at the little street restaurant. He huffs loudly as he takes their usual seats by the window, right next to the chef's counter.

"What is it again?" Mew doesn't raise his head, opting to give the most loud, dramatic groan he can muster. He hears the slam of a plate against the table, and he looks up to see stern eyes and crossed arms.

Khun Nok is a boss-ass beta who is the boss-ass aunt Mew wishes he had. She runs this dinky little Japanese restaurant with heart and an iron fist, which is why the food never disappoints and Mew can count on getting good conversation (and a good scolding) even if Khun Nok’s busy chopping up some onions or flipping a tamagoyaki. 

They'd met when Mew was in a shittier place, a well-educated bratty omega boy who hated the world and a stern yet kind beta who had seen too much of it. She'd been far too nice than she should've been to him, and Mew will forever owe her a debt for it. And part of that debt, in Mew's eyes, is to be the son-slash-nephew-slash-annoying-child that she never got to have.

"Won't you replace my aunt, Khun Nok?" Mew whines, throwing himself dramatically over the shaky table. Khun Nok gives him her classic side-eye.

"What, you here to get relationship therapy again?"

"I would if there was a relationship for me to be in!" Mew chirps with false cheer. Khun Nok frowns at him.

"Don't give me that nonsense. You're your only obstacle here. You know full well if you just asked - "

"It's just not possible, Khun Nok. There's no way he would - "

Two figures enter the restaurant then, and Mew blurts out the most random thing he can think of before either of them can get a word in edgewise. If it comes with his limbs automatically arranging themselves in the most obnoxious sitting position he can think of (legs on the table, arms slung over the back of the chair, chin tilted up), then so be it.

"Thinking of getting more tattoos to piss my aunt off. Thoughts?"

"What the fuck, Mew?" Mew narrowly avoids a slap to the head, "and you don't need any more tattoos, you rebel." Mew pulls out his best puppy-dog eyes, to no avail. He's so tempted to shift. He doesn't really want another tattoo, but Mild always gives in to Mew's wolf form and it's fun to see the way he melts for it. But Mew can't be bothered, so he turns to Mild's companion.

"Gulffff...support phi, na?"

Gulf lets out a muffled laugh.

"I think if phi wanted another tattoo phi would get it with or without my support."

If Mew is an unusual omega, then Gulf is even more so. Not in the way Mew is - purposefully rebellious, leaning into his omega side for jokes then snapping back with a distinct alpha-ness just because he can. No, Gulf is unusual in the most careless of ways. He doesn't gravitate towards the pastel colours that most omegas do (that's more Mew and Mild's thing), usually opting for a shirt, sweater, or hoodie coloured somewhere on the grayscale, with a pair of jeans or joggers to match. He doesn't particularly enjoy the things omegas normally enjoy - he prefers rap music, enjoys football, and is more than taller than the average alpha. (It's a little cruel, but Mew revels in the way that alphas take a sniff of Gulf's clean, mildly peachy scent, take a look at his appearance, then proceed to flip out.)

Back to the tattoo Mew hadn't even thought about getting. He's having second thoughts now.

"But phi wants your support anyway. Na, nong Gulf?" Maybe something on his wrist. Khun Nok's birthday? She'd hate it and hate to love it, and that would delight Mew.

Gulf plasters a mock-serious look on his face and places a very solemn hand on the top of Mew's head. He's wearing a grey sweater with a corgi head on it.

"Susu na phi." Mew's heart thuds.

_Gods, why did it have to be him?_

* * *

Mew and Mild had been friends from birth.

It'd been a fateful coincidence that both his mae and Mild's mae had had male omegas, and even more so because they were neighbours. Well, they lived one street over, but close enough.

One of his uncles had used to joke about it: _What are the chances, eh? Two male omegas in one neighbourhood. The young alpha boys must come yapping around here all the time with the pheromones._

(His uncle probably hadn't meant anything by it. But the casual flippancy, the reduction of all male omegas to _pheromones, because that's all they were really good for_ , and his casual alpha-ness irks Mew to no end.

He would've decked his uncle, but he'd been raised to be a good son and he wasn't about to ruin his family's reputation even more.)

But it was a fact - they had been the only two male omegas in that neighbourhood, which had been too much of a coincidence for the ever-nosy ever-horny alphas in the area. It'd been okay when they were younger, still in high school, because most of what they had to deal with was in school. _Why were they boys, but omegas? Why were they so weak? Boys were supposed to be strong, but omegas? Omegas were weak._ Mew and Mild could deal with it. They had each other, after all.

It'd gotten much, much worse after they'd become of age, their attractive pheromones belying the very undesirable gazes they attracted. There were young men their age, skulking around the neighbourhood for the off chance they would spot one of the male omegas. Then there were the older men, which had been much, much worse. There was just something about the fact that alphas, specifically alpha men, got more sleazy and more disgusting as they grew older, unmated. Inherently powerful, in the way that betas and omegas could only dream of. Some alphas deserved it, but the alphas that stalked Mew and Mild through the streets on their way home? They deserved nothing.

But it was okay. Mew and Mild still had each other, even though it was much, much harder. They still had each other.

 _And thank goodness it was Mild_ , Mew thinks. He voices this out to Mild as they turn into Mild's driveway. They'd dropped Gulf off earlier, though he'd wanted to see Chopper.Mew wasn't about to bring Gulf into the interrogation and casually derogatory remarks that were a staple whenever a male omega and his uncle were in the same room.

"I think I would've hated you if you were an alpha." He can hear the sound of pills rattling around the glove compartment. Drat it, he'd forgotten to fill up his prescription.

"And boy do I know that." Mew sighs.

"I've gotten better, though." Mild places a gentle hand on Mew's, rubbing gently right over where Mew's knuckles have turned white with the force of gripping the steering wheel.

"And you have to remember. It wasn't you, it was them."

"It was them." Mew echoes emptily. He's not so sure of that himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- mew is a badass  
> \- i miss mewgulf  
> \- that's all thanks for coming to my ted talk

The hum of the tattoo machine reverberates throughout the room, a pleasant background noise. The lights overhead are a leaky yellow. Mew feels vaguely queasy. It's getting progressively harder to keep up the cheery conversation with his tattoo artist.

"I still don't understand why you're getting another tattoo if you hate needles and hate pain." Mild's voice floats over from some corner. Mew closes his eyes, squeezes the hand in his tighter.

"The point is that I hate it."

"You mean your parents hate it."

"I don't hate my parents." Mew mumbles. The tattoo artist hits a particularly sensitive spot, and Mew winces.

"No you don't." Mild replies. "But you know they don't like tattoos." He's right, so Mew doesn't say anything. Focuses on the pain and sort of drifts out of this world.

"So what's the meaning behind this one, huh?"

"Mom and dad and Jom's birthdays." He whispers, almost to himself. Along his ribcage, painful but permanent.

No matter how trivial the reasons for his tattoos, the tattoos themselves always hold some kind of meaning for Mew. He couldn't get them otherwise. But it's weird to talk about it and he doesn't want to, so he looks away from Mild's raised brow.

"You ever gonna get one?" He asks Mild. Rather than immediately saying no, he actually looks thoughtful.

"Maybe." If Mew's surprised, he doesn't let the emotion leak out onto his expression. Mild's hand is a little sweaty in his, and he's typing rapidly on his phone with the other.

"Hm. Think we could convince Gulf to get a shitty friendship tattoo?"

"Don't think so. Doubt his family would let him." Mew tilts his head back.  _ Right.  _ He forgets how unusually cared for Gulf is sometimes. He and Mild spend more time out of their houses than in it, after all.  _ At least one of us is. _

* * *

Mew slips into the auditorium with his hood over his head, and his leather jacket hugged towards his body.

He's early enough that his regular seat in the front row is unoccupied, and he sets out his notes and stationery as he waits for class to start. He hears the loud whooping of some alphas at the back, loitering before their next class.

"Hey." Mew looks up, barely seeing the alpha - no, the boy - from under his overgrown fringe. A few other alphas are standing behind him, as if backing him up. For what, Mew isn't sure. He knows that he can't stand these types of alphas, though - the kinds that boast their power yet go after omegas and betas many-to-one, expecting them to either spread their legs or submit to them. And Mew isn't gonna do either.

"Oh shit, you're that omega."

Mew growls.

"What the fuck do you mean, that omega?"

"Whoa, whoa, hey there." The alpha backs up quickly. Mumbles to his friend: "Why is this omega so fucking jumpy?" Mew growls again, a clear warning.

"I don't know what you mean by  _ that omega _ , but leave me the fuck alone." He doesn't know what the fuck this alpha and his backups came for, and he's not interested in knowing. Mew pointedly pulls his hood back over his head, slouching further into his seat.

They back away quickly, like the coward alphas they are.  _ You show a bit of strength against assholes and they run away with their tails between their legs. _ Mew scoffs. He can hear the whispers around the room gradually increasing, and he stuffs his earbuds in, pulling up Twice's  _ What is Love _ . Blocks out the noise of the world, and waits for class to start.

* * *

"So," Mild raises a brow, "heard you growled at some alphas?" Mew scoffs and runs a hand through his newly-dyed hair. He'd gotten it done silver-grey on a whim, and he subtly checks himself out in the phone screen.

"When am I not growling at some alphas?"

"Touché." Mew and Mild have turned back to the selection of movies for all but a minute when Gulf rushes in, hair messy and breaths short.

"Sorry!" Gulf pants, "parents were worried about me going out. My heat's almost here." Mew tuts sympathetically and Mild gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder. Heats are shitty but pre-heats are an another kind of hell. 

Mew's happy that at least Gulf has a caring family to be there for him during those times, though he can't help but feel jealous sometimes. He turns back to the list of movies.

"So what shitty movie are we watching tonight?"

They select the shittiest horror movie possible, get a couple of sodas and a popcorn, then make themselves comfortable in the sparsely populated theater. It's full of impossible premises as well as superfluous yet lackluster storylines, and has a plot Mew barely remembers the second they stumble out of the theatre. That's fine, because the point is that they'd spent the entirety of the movie laughing at the strange plot twists and mock-gasping at the crappy jumpscares.

Mild slips away from them a bit earlier tonight, citing some family thing.

"You can head home too," Mew tells Gulf, "Being out during your pre-heat..." They both know the end to that sentence.  _ Uncomfortable. Dangerous. _ Gulf frowns. He twists his ankle awkwardly, and looks hesitant. Bites his lip, looks down at his shoes.

Mew smiles fondly.

"We can hang out another time, Gulf. Your heats get pretty messy - you should go home and rest before it comes." Gulf still seems reluctant, but he nods slowly

"Okay, phi. Will you come over sometime soon?" Mew swallows. He'd kind of wanted to avoid this. But, well, it's Gulf.

"Of course, nong. I promise."

* * *

Chopper barks petulantly for the nth time that night.

"Shh." Mew hushes, slipping the pup a little snack from hoodie pocket just to appease him. He scratches out some working with a blunt pencil as he pats Chopper on the head. "Khun Nok's almost done."

He's halfway through his next problem when Khun Nok finally leaves her cooking station, stopping to chat with the only other people in the restaurant, two betas finishing up their panang chicken curry in the corner. They're regulars, and Khun Nok thanks them before she makes her way over to Mew. The legs of the plastic chair scrape against the floor, and Mew looks up and gives her a quick nod, too focused on the numbers swimming in his mind to do much else.

"How's your engineering?" Khun Nok pulls Chopper into her lap, and he sniffs her tentatively. He's so paranoid, little Chopper - he's known Khun Nok for basically the entirety of his existence but now that he's living at Mew's, he's a little shyer around her.

"Fine." Mew erases some working with a frown, writing a new answer in its place. He checks it over. Seems right. Khun Nok has a bowl of  _ oyakudon _ with her, a rice bowl topped with chicken and egg.

"You better be doing more than fine,  _ lukchai _ ." Son, she calls him. The sound of the familiar nickname draws some of the tension out of Mew's shoulders.

"It's not easy, but I'm doing good. I'll probably graduate with honours." Khun Nok smiles.

"Good."

He knows she's just as invested in his degree as he is, because, to put it short, it hadn't been easy to even get here.

Mew had fought to even do engineering. His grandmother hadn't been very pleased with it - she'd already been disappointed by his existence and the contradictory nature of his genetics, but he'd disappointed her even further by not showing the traditional traits of an omega. He wasn't good at cooking, not the least bit interested in cleaning, nor any sort of house chores, for that matter. 

At the time he'd been fixated on impressing his family - besides school, it was the only external validation he'd ever really known. And Mew had lived for pleasing people. Except he was getting to that age where people had a certain preconception of what an omega should be, and Mew with his stellar grades, wide shoulders and distinctly omega pheromones did not match it.

Then he'd graduated high school, and had announced to his family that he'd be attending university - Kasetsart University, to be exact. He hadn't expected them to be happy for him, though it was one of Thailand's top universities. Mew had already celebrated with Gulf and Mild in lieu of this. But he wasn't fully prepared for the extent of his grandmother's stony stare.

"University? Don't be absurd." She'd told him. "I've already told your mother and father to start looking into prestigious families with unmated alphas."

Then the sentence that had caused a realization in Mew's mind, and a chill in Mew's spine. 

_ "Don't go disappointing me again." _

It was then he knew - despite his best wishes, and his best attempts, the second he'd been born as an omega, he'd been lost to her. Nothing more than a flimsy pawn, to be flung out in an atrocious attempt to bring just a little more prestige to the Jongcheveevat bloodline.

His lips had pressed together, and he still remembers the way he'd clutched the arms of his chair, knuckles white. That's the state of mind he'd been in when he'd first encountered Khun Nok. To be fair, she had been just as much of a mess as he was (though she'd beat him for saying that), and first impressions around the table hadn't been great.

But they quickly learned that each other's gruff, stern exteriors hid more sensitive souls, though this is a fact both Mew and Khun Nok will take to their graves. 

Mew knows his parents still try to pay Khun Nok for taking care of him, and she still doesn't ever take it. He'd tried more than once to convince her to take it, but she'd been adamant. The love they give is silent yet persistent, and in their own ways of communication - Chopper, Japanese food, and a restaurant that never closes to Mew - they'd shown it to each other.

Now he just accepts it gratefully, two hands on the bowl, and makes sure to invite Gulf and Mild and any of his friends to the restaurant, to get Khun Nok as much business as he can. It's what she deserves. He takes a spoonful of the  _ oyakudon _ \- equal parts rice, chicken, and egg. 

"It's so good, Khun Nok."

"It better be." She says, but she looks satisfied, "you know full well I don't cook Japanese food." Yet she does it for him, udon, ramen, tempura, and all types of rice bowls. Mew gives a sheepish smile and wonders if she knows exactly how much it all means to him. The warmth of the food in his belly and seeped throughout his being, and in this space, at this time, he feels so safe.

Outside the restaurant, the moon shines bright against a dark, dark sky.

* * *

Sometimes he dreams about the hands on his body. They barely graze him, at least the parts that matter. It's hot, so hot, yet no matter how much his body screams for him to give in, to take it, Mew won't do it.  _ Mew won't. _

He writhes, tries to escape. 

"Mom!" His lips form the words but no sounds come out, "Dad! Jom!" No one comes for him. No one's coming for him. They'd put him here, hadn't they? For his own good, for his own sake. For him, for him, for him.

It suffocates him, carves a space in his lungs and stops his breath in his throat. 

He's not strong at all, but - thank the gods - he does possess some of that inherent omegan swiftness. It's a blur of motions in the dream, but he remembers the path he'd taken that day, and his feet fall quickly in the same pattern he's traced and retraced so many times in his subconscious. He never makes it out before he wakes up with a cold sweat lining his forehead and tragically damp sheets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i really like the flow of this chapter, so i hope you guys enjoy :)

Mew slips into the Traipipattanapong household with quiet footsteps. It’s absurd, really, the way he tries to make himself smaller every time he steps across that threshold. He knows full well that they won’t do anything, maybe not even judge him, but still. Mew’s always been one to err on the side of caution.

Gulf’s mae is at the dinner table, a shawl across her shoulders and a cup of warm tea in her hands. She nods and smiles when she sees him - she’s pretty used to seeing him, a routine every few months that they’ve gotten used to. He  _ wai _ -s to her. Gulf’s dad is nowhere to be seen, but to be honest, Mew has never seen him, ever. He hopes Gulf means it whenever he says his dad loves him despite Gulf being both male and an omega.

Mew can hear the way his heart pulses inside his chest as he crosses the living area, scaling the stairs carefully. No matter how many times he’s been here and no matter how many times he’s done this, he’s still nervous. He feels self conscious to a fault, in his joggers and white beanie. Tugs at the string of his favourite white hoodie, the one he’d worn just in case Gulf needed it.

The socks Mew is wearing today are pretty cute. Chopper’s on them - the one from One Piece, not his pomeranian, though if Gulf is coherent enough, he’ll definitely point it out. Mew doesn’t think that’ll be the case, though. Mew had driven here in a hurry, but it’s already been a few hours since Gulf had first messaged him. He hasn’t received any messages since, which is pretty telling.

When Mew walks up to the door and tries the handle, the door isn’t locked. He should expect it, but it still makes Mew pause, take a step back, look at the crooked, wooden letters spelling out ‘GULF’ on the door. He breathes in again, a deep one, and opens the door.

A surge of pheromones. It smells like freshly fallen leaves, like flowing spring water, like the mountain. Gulf is sitting in the middle of a nest of blankets, pillows, and soft toys, eyes wide and brimming with tears of frustration. His chest is bare, and Mew can see the marks of fingerprints and hands on his hips, up to his neck. The scent of his heat is strong, so strong.

“P’Mew” he gasps, and Mew closes the door.

* * *

It’s hard for Mew to leave the next morning. At least Gulf’s heats only really last a day or so - it could be worse. If Mew had to be around him in that state for any longer, he thinks he wouldn’t be able to leave. He has to leave, though. It’s a promise he’s made, and it’s a promise he’s always kept.

Still. In the early hours of the morning, with the mild rays just starting to filter into the room, Mew lets himself stay at Gulf’s side. He watches as the light hits the soft lines of Gulf’s face, the gentle slope of his cheeks and his full lips. The strenuous night has left him no worse for wear, though maybe that’s just the rose-tinted glasses Mew is looking through. What can Mew say? He’s always been a romantic.

Gulf’s hand is lying there, limp and palm up. Mew can’t help but hold it, intertwine their fingers and press his calloused palm against Gulf’s soft one. For someone who enjoys sports, Gulf really is so gentle. All soft palms. Soft stomach. Soft cheeks. Their shared scent is strong throughout the room, particularly on Gulf and on the blankets that are currently enshrouding him. He’s clad in Mew’s white hoodie because he gets cold easily, and Mew - Mew is remembering very belatedly that he’s shirtless. He pulls on one he’d left in Gulf’s closet the other time, and slips out the door just as the warm sunlight begins flooding the room.

* * *

It feels like withdrawal, a hollowed out part in Mew’s chest. The after-effects of Gulf’s heat are always like this: they leave Mew’s body feeling desperate, yearning for another presence with him, inside him.

It’s the feeling Mew hates the most.

There’s a hunger in the pit of his stomach that he can’t deny, even as he curls up into himself, trying to hide into his pillows. The four walls around him feel suffocating, as they always do. This is why he never spends any time at home - his desk is empty of any work, the frames on the wall were put up by his mom, and even the pillows on his bed are in a hotel-like arrangement.

It’s fine. Mew prefers things clean anyway. One day, when he gets to move out, he’ll fill up rooms with toys - Funko Pops, KAWS, the like. He’ll bring Chopper with him, buy him all the treats he wants. Sunlit rooms with greenery outside. Yes. That sounds nice.

The shadow of the falling sun chisels out a clear path on Mew’s figure, and he flexes his fingers, trying to capture the residue of brightness. His hole clenches around slick and emptiness. 

_ It’s almost like he’s dreaming again, but Mew knows this is not a dream. Or maybe he’s lucid dreaming. Who knows? Either way, it is a world that has either passed or has created itself in his mind, and he is its victim.  _ Born victim _ , he hears his grandmother’s voice say. Maybe she’s right. _

_ The alpha is stepping towards him. Mew’s fists are clenching the blankets, veins marking their way from his forearms down to his hands. This man, he smells like wood, like insects, like the dead smells of the earth. His arms are strong, but Mew knows his are stronger. His omega doesn’t care, though. It senses alpha, and it wants. _

_ Mew wants it. He wants it all. Wants it, wants not to want it. His omega is trying to jump out of his body, to pounce out of him like a predator then succumb like prey. But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want. _

He screams it into the void inside his mind:  _ I DON’T WANT IT. _

Mew doesn’t want it.

Before he knows it he’s writhing on his bed, and in his mind’s eye he can see the silhouette of Gulf writhing, overlaid with his own. He cradles his jaw with a hand, sucking his index finger into his mouth. The dread in his stomach curls up, but the omega in him is not yet sated.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t hold on any longer, despite how loudly his brain is screaming at him. He slips two hands into his pants and feels an embarrassing warmth rush through his body. Burning, almost like punishment. Call it Mew’s personal hell.

With one fist around his cock and several fingers buried deep inside him, Mew squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he was never born.

* * *

The sea has always been Mew’s safe place, a vast space of freedom, somewhere to which he can always run. Mew drops by the restaurant to hand Chopper off to khun Nok for a bit. She must sense some of that restlessness lingering underneath his skin because she quickly sends him off with a pat on the back. He can hear her head to the back as he leaves, knows that when he comes back there’ll be a warm bowl of miso udon waiting for him.

Mew makes the one-hour drive to  _ Samut Prakan _ , stopping only to top up his Mazda’s engine. The driving is nice, takes the edge off somewhat, but his entire being is itching for more. Mew tries to put on some music, but nothing manages to soothe his soul, not Twice’s bubblegum pop songs, nor Stamp Apiwat’s soft voice. He settles for humming under his breath, tapping impatiently on the side of his steering wheel.

He arrives at the sea to a view empty of people. Right. It’s an afternoon on a weekday, and Mew really shouldn’t be here. He should be back in Bangkok, at university, studying. And he will. After he fixes himself.

Mew strips down to his boxers quickly, shedding the pheromone-drenched clothes like a snake shedding skin.Throws it all into the back seat without a care. Gulps down a few pheromone suppressant pills with some of the water khun Nok had given him. There’s no one around, but better safe than sorry.

The water is cool, and Mew practically shudders out of his body when he jumps into it. It’s a welcome sensation. He takes a deep breath, then submerges himself. In the water, with his eyes closed, mind empty, and the water flowing around him, Mew feels a bit more like himself.

He makes sure to run two hands over the sides of his neck, rubbing furiously as if that’ll wash away all the pheromones. Mew can almost feel it fall away from his skin, feel it pilling up under his fingers. 

Surrounded by the strong, salty scent of the sea, he can almost forget who he is.

Mew steps out of the sea renewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sooooo how we feelin? 😅  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	4. Chapter 4

They had thought Mew would present as an alpha. Young Mew, with his broad shoulders, defined pecs and sharp jawline - he’d believed them, because no one had ever told him otherwise. He’d seen alphas, he’d seen betas, he’d seen omegas. Sure enough, the alphas were the ones that he could find traces of himself in - the shoulders, the muscles, the glint in their dark eyes - it all seemed to match up. The only person who had ever raised the possibility of it being otherwise was Gulf.

They’d been younger at the time, just a year or two shy from presenting.

“I think I’ll be an alpha.” Mew had said confidently. HIs grandmother had stopped him by the stairs the other day, a strong hand on his shoulder. Looked him up and down, and nodded her head brusquely.  _ You’ll be an alpha alright.  _ (She hasn't looked at him the same way since his presentation.)

Mild had nodded briefly. He’d never seemed to have much of an opinion on these things, believing them to be frivolities of the adult world. Which is fair, but the second they present, they would be thrust into the inescapable clutches of that world, and Mew - Mew just knew Mild would present as an omega. He’d just wanted Mild to know he’d be there to protect him until the end. Like he’d always done, like they’d always done for each other.

Gulf, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed to believe him immediately.

“How can you be sure?” He had asked honestly. It was an honest comment, but it had made Mew bristle a bit, to have his identity - or what he had believed would soon be his identity - questioned.

“Look at me! Does it look like I could be anything else?” It was a fate, and a good fate, or so Mew had believed. Still believes, somehow. To have it be anything otherwise would have been an insult at that point. If broad-shouldered, strong-eyed Mew had turned out to be something other than an alpha, all the expectations he’d ever had placed on him would crumble to pieces.

“You too,” Mew had continued to Gulf, gesturing at the latter’s body, “You’re tall, well-proportioned. You’re probably going to be an alpha too.” Gulf had been tall and lanky back then - not yet taller than Mew, though he eventually would be. He’d looked like an alpha-to-be, not like Mew did, but still.

“I’m not sure.” Gulf had said, and he’d been right.

Thinking back, it seems so naive of Mew to believe such things. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking, and he’d known what would happen deep down. Perhaps he had been blinded, blinded by words and commands from everyone around him, cursed by the expectations.

And perhaps Gulf had known about Mew, known about himself, and known about the two of them more than Mew ever would.

* * *

Mild turns to Mew as he finally arrives at the theater, hands on his hips.

“You’re late!” He scolds, wagging a finger at Mew. Gulf is still looking at the movie posters, and the shells of his ears look kind of red.

“Sorry. Was held up by something.” Mew answers vaguely. Clears his throat. It feels more awkward than usual, though maybe that’s just him. It shouldn’t be, because this is a regular thing for the three of them. But things that haven’t been awkward before have felt more so, as of late.

“So. What’re we watching?” A moment of silence. Gulf is still staring off in a daze, and with a chuckle, Mild answers in his stead.

“Gulf wants to watch something romantic.” Mew flinches automatically. Romance doesn’t sound very good right now. He picks at his hoodie strings. It’s his white hoodie - one time through the wash, and somehow, it still seems to smell of Gulf.

“Let’s not do that.” He says tersely. “How about...um... _ Peninsula _ ?” Picks at his hoodie again. Maybe the faint scent of a babbling brook is but a figment of Mew’s imagination.

“Um,” Mild seems to have finally caught on to the tension between them, “We can watch both, I think.” Mew feels sorry for Mild - he probably doesn’t have an inkling of an idea as to what happens between Mew and Gulf every time either of them hit their heats. He doesn’t deserve to be caught in the ensuing tension, he really doesn’t.

“Sounds fine by me.” Mew is trying to stares holes in the back of Gulf’s head, but it doesn’t seem to be helping very much. “You guys can watch the romantic comedy first.” Just the thought of romance wants to make Mew throw up, but it’s not just his distaste for romance; his stomach’s not feeling the best.

“You sure?” Mild asks him. Gulf is still firmly looking away. Mew doesn’t like it. Purposefully pushes down the anger that is starting to brew inside of him and turns his head in the other direction. If Gulf wants to play this game, Mew can play it too.

“I’m sure.” He says. Presses the heel of his hand into his stomach. Gods is his stomach killing him.

* * *

His mom intercepts him in the living room that night, Chopper in her arms. She’s sitting on the sofa in their living room, eyes trained on the door. She’s been waiting - for how long, Mew doesn’t know.

“You could have texted.” He mutters when she won’t take those keen eyes off of him. Moms sure do know best.

“You can’t keep running away, Mewmew.” She’s called him that since he was a kid. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only part of his identity that had made it past that jump between his childhood and adulthood.

“Forget it.” He says brusquely, but he knows she’s right. Still, he feels no remorse when he leaves for Mild’s house that night.

* * *

In this dream, he is drowning, though not at first.

At first, Mew is in a bathtub, a cramped one. Must be Gulf’s then. There are cold hands touching him, shampooing his hair then running a damp washcloth over his face. They’re cold, so Mew reaches for them, takes them in his own.  _ You’ve always had such warm hands, Mewmew _ , his mother had told him,  _ make sure you hold your Omega well with these warm hands. _ They haven’t talked much since. Mew doesn’t even remember when she’d said that to him.

_ “I don’t remember anything.”  _ he voices out into this dream void, not expecting an answer. He startles a bit when it comes.

_ “Are you okay, Mew?” _ Gulf’s face swims into view. His eyebrows are drawn upwards in concern, and Mew reaches out wet fingers to try and correct that. Gulf ducks away, laughing. Gulf’s hand is still in Mew’s, and the boney fingers have become warm. Warm. Mew feels so warm.

“ _ Yeah.” _ Mew nuzzles into Gulf’s hand. It’s warm and a bit calloused, but if Mew presses his nose to Gulf’s wrist, he can smell a hint of the mountains. “ _ I’m good. Really good.” _

Mew looks into Gulf’s eyes. They’re so dark, so deep. Mew feels like he’s falling into them, falling, falling, but now he’s falling backwards, into the water, pushed by some unknown forces. He shouts for Gulf, but nothing comes out and he’s underwater, so far underwater he can’t see anything.  _ Gulf? Gulf? _ Nowhere, nowhere to be found. Mew is drowning and falling in equal parts, and there’s nowhere to go except downwards.

* * *

Truly, Mew’s body has impeccable timing, engineered in a way to make Mew lose his mind. Because he’s sitting in his  _ Managerial Accounting and Finance  _ class, taking notes and listening attentively like a good student, when his heat hits.

Mew should have known, really, with the way his stomach’s been hurting all week, an undercurrent in everything he’s done. Every time he’d wondered that though, he’d checked his schedule, which always gave him the same answer - there should be a few weeks before his heat begins. This feels like his body’s punishment for him.

If Mew thinks carefully, his recent few heats have been pretty unpredictable and all over the place in the way his usual heats aren’t, but he’d brushed that off and stuck to his schedule. Ignoring his instincts, which was ironic considering he was an omega, largely considered to be the most intuitive of the three genders.

But his recent few heats have been unpredictable and all over the place, so he really should have known better. Still, now’s not the time to mourn past decisions. Mew stuffs everything inside his bag in a manner so haphazard his future self will definitely hate him for it. Escapes from the classroom just before his scent starts to spread through the room.

Mew rushes into the fire escape without really looking. Slams into the door with a strong bicep and winces at the pulse of pain that runs through him. There’s gonna be a bruise there tomorrow.

He dials on his phone with fumbling, sweaty fingers, and presses it to his ear desperately. His throat is pulling in on itself, his chest is concaving, and when he feels his forehead, it’s blisteringly hot. His omega is shouting out  _ alpha, alpha _ , sending out pheromones in desperation. Mew tries to quash it, but can never, especially not during his heats.

The phone is still playing the ringing tone, and the hollowness of the sound is mocking to Mew’s ears.

“Fuck.” He mumbles under his breath. Drags a desperate hand down the entirety of his face before he forces himself to make the call. Dials the number he never wants to dial in these situations. Presses the phone to his ear again.

This time, it picks up.

_ “Hello?” _


	5. Chapter 5

The rag is pilled and rough against the skin of Mew’s forehead. Still, the coolness of it is refreshing, and Mew lets out a relieved sigh amongst heavy pants. He’s coming to, slowly, becoming more aware of his surroundings. The scents rush in with no mercy, though familiar ones - of home-cooked food, of chosen homes, of khun Nok. She's talking, and Mew does his best to listen although his brain is drifting off into ten different directions.

“I had to get the man from the store next door to help me out,” she complains, though her voice is softer than usual, “why did you call me?” Khun Nok re-moistens the towel, wiping the ever-present sweat on Mew’s forehead with a careful hand. Mew tries to speak, but his throat is dry from disuse and he ends up lurched over, coughing. The wooden crate under him creaks as he does this, its flimsy wood not meant for much other than storing fruits.

"No one...else..." Mew gets out weakly, before he lapses back into another coughing fit. Now that he's a bit more alert, he notices she'd moved him into the storage room at the back of the restaurant. This is a safe place, and he allows some of the tension to bleed out of his shoulders. The bottom of his pants are wet with slick, but that's a discomfort Mew has lived with and can live with.

"Just need water." He rasps out. Mew doesn't want to bother khun Nok too much - gods know she's gone enough out of her way for him already. Khun Nok looks at him, a you-can't-possibly-be-serious kind of look.

"I'm calling Gulf." She says. Mew frowns. Absolutely no, not on his watch. He lurches forward, tries to rip the phone out of her hands. In his heat-frenzied state, he fails, fingers flailing uselessly in the air. Falls backward onto the crate with a groan. It feels like he's burning up on the inside, and he almost snorts out loud at the irony of it all. Poor omega, leaking from the bottom yet burning like fire in the depths of his being. What a contrast.

The ringtone barely lasts for a few seconds before it ends, and khun Nok is speaking into the phone in hushed tones. Mew doesn't care anymore. Since when did he ever believe any of this to be in his power, when it's been snatched out of his hands so many times? Stupid body and stupid dependencies. Still, when he hears - just the quietest bit of noise - Gulf on the other end of the line, he buries his head in his hands. HIs body screams at him. It feels like there's something pulling at him, telling him to go there now.

To go to Gulf now.

This thought, somehow coherent even amongst all the daze and confusion, is clear. Mew shakes his head in denial of it, but he doesn't have enough energy to cast that thought out of his mind. He doesn't have enough energy for anything at all.

The last thing he really remembers is hearing someone say  _ "let's go, Mew" _ , and a whisper of  _ "it'll be alright". _ But it could just be Mew's imagination - his body seems to be imagining a lot of things nowadays.  _ Fuck you, stupid body _ , he thinks again. It makes him feel strangely comforted.

Then his body's being lifted off the ground, with some difficulty. He thinks he tells whoever it is to be careful, but it comes out as a garbled mumble.  _ Where are you taking me? _ , Mew also wants to ask, but this doesn't make it past his lips at all. But that pulling feeling is gone, and comforted, Mew lets himself be lulled into something akin to unconsciousness.

* * *

Mew knows this threshold, he was here just the other day after all. This time, however, he is considerably worse for wear. Although he knows he's at the Traipipattanapong household, there are some parts of his brain that just haven't fully realized it. So he stays pliant, letting Gulf pull him

He hears the faint murmur of conversation. Gulf's voice, explaining something. Probably about Mew's situation. Another voice, replying. It's higher in pitch. Gulf's mother, then, and they must be in the dining room. Mew tries to raise himself to full height and  _ wai _ Gulf's mother. Turns out that also takes a spatial awareness that his heat-frenzied self doesn't comprehend, so he ends up stumbling over, falling straight into Gulf.

He holds onto Gulf's biceps tight, head down and eyes shut. Huddles into himself. Tries to pretend he's not here, that this isn't happening.  _ I'm not usually like this _ , he tries to say, but settles for mentally sending that thought in Mrs. Traipipattanapong's direction,  _ I don't want to be like this. _

Mercifully, Gulf and his mother's exchange doesn't go on for much longer, and with more than a few awkward manoeuvres, Gulf manages to move Mew to his room.

Mew feels himself being dropped onto a bed, and suddenly surrounded by an overwhelming amount of Gulf's scent, he whines. This is too much for him. He clutches the sheets with trembling fingers, then roams hands over his body, making sure. He's here. Surrounded by Gulf's scent. In his room. Safe, even in his heat.  _ Gods,  _ he's needed this. Mew closes his eyes and allows himself to sink in.

* * *

"Meww" Gulf whines, threading his fingers through Mew's hair and tugging. Mew lets himself be pulled. Whatever Gulf wants, whatever he wants, Mew will give. Give until he's got nothing left of himself to give. He looks up at Gulf through his lashes, matted and wet with tears of frustration. Gulf is so pretty like this, when he's chasing the waves of his own climax. He's persistent in it, seeking it like it's a mirage in the desert. But he's not satisfied, and Mew needs to keep giving, keep giving until Gulf is satisfied.

Mew latches his lips around the head of Gulf's cock and sucks again, feeling his ribcage pull upwards with the force of it. He thumbs the vein that along the side as he does it, scratches it lightly with his nails. The wood is hard on his knees and he can almost hear the  _ drip drop _ of his slick as it puddles on the floor, but Mew doesn't care. He's still burning up on the inside but he doesn't care. All he needs is for Gulf to cum.

He whines as much around Gulf's cock, but it comes out a desperate amalgam of a moan, groan, and a plead.

"Fuck, Mew" Gulf's eyes are shiny when he looks down at Mew. And Mew knows, knows to well how sensitive Gulf's always been. All over his body, anywhere and everywhere on that map of curves Mew has memorized so well. He's thrusting into Mew's mouth, his movements erratic and uncalculated. Gulf's body has always been so honest, especially under Mew's touch. One, two, three more thrusts is all it takes for Gulf to spill in Mew's mouth with a drawn-out moan.

Gulf's cum is slightly bitter and tangy but Mew swallows it anyway, his senses pinging. He makes sure to imprint this vision of Gulf in his mind: head tilted back, wavy locks even more messy than they usually are, shoulder relaxed, the very vision of satisfaction. It makes Mew feel better about himself, even if it's only a little bit.

* * *

_ Omega, _ Mew whines in the back of his mind, clutching Gulf's hips even tighter in his hands. The bone is sharp yet soft, and when Mew grips hard enough it feels like it might pierce through him.

Gulf never questions it. This isn't how heats are supposed to work, and both of them know it. It's how they've been taught. During their heats, omegas are supposed to become nothing but wanton holes, looking for fulfilment with any alpha's cock. They've all seen the video in their sex ed classes, the ones wherein an omega whines and begs for an alpha to take them, eyes glazed over in heat.

It's fucking stupid. Mew hates it with every fibre of his being, hates that it is those same fibres of his being that have dictated he should be like that. Mew doesn't want it. He will never, never be one of those omegas.

"No - " Mew cries out audibly, the sound choked. He pushes his hips towards Gulf's with an almost violent force. It's wet, so wet - the way Gulf is clenching around his cock, the way his own hole clenches around air. He  _ hates this, hates this, hates it so much _ , punctuates each thought with a thrust of his hips.

The window at the other end of the room is right there, curtains drawn. It's a small window, and no one can see in, but the primal part of Mew is happy enough with it. _Like this, the world will know._ _Look, look._ Almost like he's pleading with the world for acceptance. _Don't you see me? I'm the way you wanted me to be._

_ Almost like an alpha,  _ Mew admits to himself.  _ Almost like the alpha you'll never be. _

He growls, furious. Throws those thoughts away from his mind and forcibly replacing them with the image of Gulf's body under his greedy hands. Gulf is so good, just bent over and taking it all, taking every last bit of Mew. On Gulf's bed, surrounded by Gulf's scent, Mew's close to the same bliss he felt during Gulf's heat. In his omega's nest, marking his omega for the world to see.

He wants to show the world this person is his.

_ Claim _ , something primal inside him screams. Mew picks up the pace. Presses his hips into Gulf's and grinds, like he's seeking a permanent place somewhere deep inside Gulf. He noses at the scent gland at the side of Gulf's neck, lets the scent of melting snow and mountaintops quell the fiery pain he feels in the core of his being.

Mew bites into the side of Gulf’s neck as he comes.  _ This person, this omega. He is mine. _

Outside, the night is dark as the depths of chaos, but the stars are bright. And the fire in Mew is quelled, if only for tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

When Mew recovers from his heat, Gulf is already awake. He's sitting by Mew's side attentively, his fingers gripping Mew's bicep loosely, like he's afraid to let go but also too afraid to hold on tight. The circles under his eyes are darker than when he's pulled an all-nighter playing ROV, and some of the red on his plump lips is blood.

Mew sighs, closing his eyes.

"You shouldn't have come." He says, voice hoarse. Gulf startles. He's found his way to Mew's closet, it seems, donning a worn out One Piece shirt and oversized black boxers. Wordlessly, he urges Mew up into a sitting position, handing him a cup of water.

Mew accepts it gratefully, slowly coming to himself. He can feel just slight remnants of slick on his skin, and the dirty sheets have been taken off the bed. His pillows are placed in their original spots, and they've even been fluffed. Throughout all this, Gulf is still looking at him, but Mew can’t bring himself to look into those wide eyes. It feels cowardly, but he doesn't want the honesty he knows he'll see, wants to hide away from it.

"You know I had to stay, Mew," Mew drags his hands down his face, his breath suddenly heavy in his chest, "you know I had to."

* * *

THE DAY MEW AND KHUN NOK FIRST MET (alternatively, what happens when you put two broken people together):

It's nighttime, the day's almost ending, yet Mew still feels the same way he has all day - empty. His feet hurt from when he'd been running - out of the doctor's office, away from the presentation results that had ruined his life. He’s still a mess though, because the thing about running away is that the thing you’re running from - that still exists even if you run, even if you hide your eyes behind your hands like a child without object permanence.

Mew knows this, yet he can’t stop running.

The paper in his hands is crumpled already, and he carelessly tosses it at the bin without even taking a second look at the results printed on it in dark, black ink. Who cares, anyway? He doesn’t have to look at those results to know they’ve ruined his life utterly and completely. The crumpled ball bounces off the metal and onto the ground. Whatever. Mew doesn't give a shit.

Neither had khun Nok. This had been obvious from the moment Mew had stepped into the dilapidated restaurant, too hungry to really care. He’d ignored the tears she was holding back, the tiny pomeranian - just a little baby - in her arms, the fading scent of alpha pheromones in the air.

“Can I get a bowl of - “ the menus are all put away, and there’s no sort of sign anywhere in this restaurant, “anything you have?” The woman bristles, not even shifting from the stool she’s sitting on.

“No.” She grits her teeth. Hugs the whining puppy closer to her chest.  _ Chopper _ is the dog’s name, as Mew will learn later. For now, he just watches helplessly as this woman hugs the impossibly tiny pomeranian to her chest with the ferocity of a mother who knows she’s going to have to let go. “My alpha just left me and now some dumb kid has the nerve to come in and demand I cook for them? Give me a break.”

Pretty fucking ironic, considering some part of alpha has left Mew too. The ghost of who he thought he’d be. He doesn’t quite know what to say to comfort her, so after a lot of thinking he lands on an awkward: “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She scoffs, swipes away her tears with the back of her hand.

“Thanks, I guess. Should have guessed that asshole would’ve left for an omega.” A chill runs through Mew. Right. No matter how much he tries to deny it, alphas always belong with omegas, and that’s the way of the world. Mew’s breath hitches and he curls ever-so-slightly into himself.

She must notice and feel vaguely sorry for this not-so-small child, rushing in during the middle of the night smelling of sad and trace hints of omega, because she sighs, places Chopper in his hands and heads off to the kitchen. Mew curls up on the stool she’d just vacated and tries not to think about what she’d said earlier, about alphas, omegas, and how it’s inevitable - an alpha and an omega will always find their ways to each other, everything else be damned.

_ (“You know, I didn’t really mean it.” Khun Nok will say in the future, one hand running through Mew’s hair as the other pats Chopper. Mew will be sitting there, head in his hands. Another bad day, just like most days have been recently. _

_ Mew will nod even though he doesn’t really believe her. People are the most honest when they’re the most desperate after all, and it’d been khun Nok’s desperation that had reminded him - alphas are meant to be with omegas, omegas are meant to be with alphas. And Mew - if he can’t have his omega - will have no one.) _

Mew learns more about her later, shovelling spoonfuls of egg and rice into his mouth and feeling more at home than he’s felt in a long time. She introduces him to Chopper, to the little restaurant she’d been running with the one who left. She’d had big dreams for this restaurant, but apparently he’d had other ones.

_ Alpha-omega relationships are overrated _ , she'd said, and Mew had agreed, even as he desired otherwise. He'd always thought - no matter if his person presented as an alpha, beta, or omega, he'd love them all the same, they'd be mates and live happily ever after.

He hadn't considered his own criterion for that though, because every part of him had always believed he would have been able to be there for them, that he would be, just for them, the perfect alpha.

_ You’re not okay, Mew. It’s you. It’s always been you. _

* * *

Gulf had presented as an omega on a warm autumn night, just a month or so earlier than Mew had. He'd taken it much better than Mew though, and with him it was like nothing had changed with the exception of having to go into heat every once in a while, taking suppressants on the regular, and having to deal with the occasional annoying alpha.

Still, Mew doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gulf with an alpha.

He doesn’t get to, ever, because the next thing he knows, he’s the one in Gulf’s bed, satiating the omega’s every desire until the next best thing comes. Mew knows that’s the case, because he looks at Gulf, and although Gulf’s tall stature doesn’t exactly scream omega, he’s soft and adorable in his every action and mannerism. Which alpha wouldn’t want that? So it is like this Mew becomes the first one for Gulf, except it feels like punishment. For him to serve Gulf as another omega. In that moment, Mew had felt a sense of impending doom, knowing one day he’d have to be on his knees begging for someone to be his alpha instead. But he hadn’t cared at all.

They’d been at Gulf’s house. Mew had greeted Mrs. Traipipattanapong as usual, both of them unaware of the events that would ensue once Mew stepped past the threshold of Gulf’s room. Then it had become overwhelming, the scent of Gulf everywhere. With the sensitive nose of a newly-presented omega, there is not much Mew can do to resist, even if he is an omega.

Mew still remembers what Gulf had looked like in that moment, clutching on to the details like a man starved. Hair even messier than usual, blankets and pillows strewn around him. Plush pink lips, bitten to the point of bleeding. Tears welling up like gemstones in those eyes. Mew can’t help himself, should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

“Gulf, let me take you.” Gulf had looked unsure, even as he had writhed in his bed. Mew doesn’t know what it feels like, hasn’t gotten his first proper heat yet, but he can imagine it. A deep need curled up in the pit of one’s stomach, coiled up so neat and tight that nothing except another’s touch will eliminate it.

“Okay, but - are you sure, Mew? Are you okay?”

Mew’s fucking tired of everyone asking him if he’s okay. His parents - or to be more accurate, his mother. His friends - or so they’d used to be - from the university, from high school. The doctor and nurses that had been there when he’d presented, and had to be the ones guiding him outside the doctor’s office as his limbs had frozen and his brain had gone on meltdown, the confirmation sheet like fire in between his fingers.

No,  _ no,  _ Mew is not okay, but what are they going to do about it?  _ Can _ they do something about it, reverse time so that he could have had time, had the opportunity to change something, anything about the way he’d turned out? Anything, so that he could live the life he’d thought, believed, he was going to live?

He looks down at Gulf, his hair messy after a long night of running his hands through it, his fingers slightly clenched as if he’s searching for something to hold.

_ I wanted to be yours, you know. _ Mew curls a unruly lock of hair behind Gulf’s ear, fingertips trailing across the soft skin, trying not to linger.  _ All I really wanted was to be your alpha. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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